


Hubris

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [54]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Gen, Gift Fic, coffeeshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:56:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: A demon who's just minding their own business has a run-in with a hunter who's not actually on the job right now.





	Hubris

**Author's Note:**

> Apollo belongs to my sib romanfuckingsanders! They made this character specifically for this AU, which is like. literally one of the biggest compliments I can get asldfjasdlkf
> 
> (see the end notes for a pic of Apollo!)

Your name is Apollo, and you picked it out yourself.

Now, technically? Taking the name of an ages-old god is definitely an act of hubris. You've studied history, ancient and modern and possibly apocryphal, and you're well aware that deities have killed for less than this. However, you're in a position to believe that your namesake is the _least_ of your worries. Sure, fire from the heavens might rain down at any moment, but that's a vague and somehow unreal threat compared to the current real and present danger—namely a skinny, middle-aged man with white hair and roughly six kids that he's only kind of trying to corral.

When you say it like that it sounds like you're a complete and utter wimp, but you have some extenuating circumstances here. Most of them can be stripped down to _I have a feeling_, which still sounds like paranoia or stupidity, but demons learn to pay attention to feelings like this pretty damn quick if they want to survive. Which you do. You would really like to survive a one PM coffee run even if it means you get hunted down somewhere else, which means you need to format a plan.

Since the white-haired hunter's already noticed you and whatever you missed tucking back under your skin (is it horns? tail? wings? no, someone else would have noticed that while you were stilll standing in line; you never would have gotten past the attempt to order the quad-shot espresso with an extra caffiene shot and an equal portion of coldbrew blended in) (yes, the employees here think you're crazy) you have a limited amount of time to come up with aforementioned plan. And having him stare at you sure isn't helping.

So. Bathroom time.

"Apollo?"

Oh. Shit. That's your name...but you guess you can hold off panicking right this second; it's the guy at the counter who said it, the hunter doesn't know your name. Or well, he _didn't_ right until the moment when you reached over and snagged your cup off the counter on your way to the bathroom. Probably not a good move, but you need that caffiene jolt to even try to get through this.

You manage to hold out on draining the hot liquid from the cup for about eight seconds, which is precisely the length of time it takes for the door to hiss shut behind you. Making eye contact with your reflection in the bathroom mirror lets you see how wide your eyes are; holy shit you're scared. The coldbrew blended in means that the liquid does not literally burn your throat going down, but you still swear that your pupils dilate as the stimulant hits your system.

Okay. Okay, cool. You're doing great. Still alive, still not cornered. Well—

The door opens and you drop the empty cup, spin and spring back four feet and feel tile at your back. Okay, _now_ you're cornered. And you're pretty sure your horns are showing, little ebony spikes too obvious in sandy brown hair—why have you not dyed it yet, exactly?—and the hunter's _grinning_ at you, too young for his own white hair but that doesn't mean he's going to be slow, doesn't mean he's not going to be cruel—

One of the kids somehow slips between the hunter and the door, into the bathroom with you, and you see your chance. This is probably an awful idea, but you're kind of running out of options here.

The kid squeaks as you reach out and grab a handful of pineapple-patterned tank top, but they don't struggle when you yank them in and wrap an arm around their neck, using them as a shield. (Yes, you already feel bad about this.) Up close and right under your nose, the colors they've dyed their hair—green at the roots, orange at the tips—look even more vibrant, or maybe that's the fear of death putting color into things for you.

You kind of wish you'd had the chance to grab someone who wasn't wearing a cat ear headband. This somehow makes you feel worse about the current situation.

Then again, the hunter stops dead as you tighten your grip on the hostage. "Don't hurt them," he says, way too calm but also way too serious. "Do you hear me? Do _not_ hurt them, okay, we don't need—"

Huh. You actually guessed this kid's pronouns right? Usually you just mentally default to _they_ because that's how you think of yourself; it's not usually the right choice. Wait, you can be surprised at that later; right now you need to bargain. Or something. "Back off and I won't hurt anyone."

"He wasn't talking to _you_," the kid you're holding purrs. You didn't think that humans could actually purr out words like that. Actually, you still don't, because the kid twists in your grip, grabs your wrist and does _something_ that does not hurt as much as you expect it to but still breaks your grip on them, and you catch a flash of wide feline pupils set in two-tone irises that perfectly match the bright tones of their hair.

So...not human. At all.

Okay, so you fucked up. And you are now the one in the hostage role, or you would be if anyone here was on your side and thought you were worth bargaining for, which they are not and do not. Baring your teeth and hissing at the kid holding you probably isn't the right answer to this development, but you're kind of panicking right now and your instincts tend to get away from you in moments like this.

The cat ears flick forward as you hiss. You realize they're not attatched to the headband a split second before the cat kid shows their teeth at you. Their teeth are very white and very sharp, and although you're not in the mood to count you suspect that there's probably too many of them.

"Davepeta! No!" The hunter barks those two words out (although you're not entirely sure that the first one is technically a word at all) and the demon(?) kid lets go of your wrist instantly, wiping the snarl off their face in favor of something amazingly contrite. "Get your ass over here, featherbrain."

_Featherbrain?_ You'd understand _fluffball_, maybe, but—

Oh. Nevermind. As Davepeta sidesteps away from you, smoothing down their tanktop with one clawed hand, green-tipped orange wings briefly half-spread and fold again. You guess you were right to question your original assessment of them as a demon, which makes sense because why would a hunter have a baby demon with them? That doesn't make sense at all.

You still have no idea what the kid is, exactly. Not human, not demon. Maybe a really committed magical furry. (You are aware of what that sounds like and you _also_ wish you weren't thinking it.)

It doesn't matter what they are, anyway, because learning their nature will not benefit you for more than twenty minutes tops. That's how long you're putting your life expectancy at right now. You wonder if it'll be the hunter or the kid that kills you.

"Goddamnit, Davepeta," the hunter says in a much more rueful tone than you expected, reaching not for a weapon or anything normal like that but up to push his aviators onto his forehead so he can rub at his eyes, "what part of 'don't hurt them' do you not get here?"

"Do they _look_ hurt?"

"They looked like they just got the shit scared out of them, so yeah, they look fuckin' hurt. How're we gonna get back out without getting clocked if you two both got eyes 'n teeth going on here?"

Hm. Glancing at the mirror, you see that the hunter has a point. Your teeth are very obviously too sharp for your mouth, your tail is whipping nervously back and forth behind you, and your horns are still out. You guess that you shouldn't be surprised about that last one, since they were out a minute or so ago and you quite obviously haven't had the time or opportunity to calm down enough to get them back under control yet, but you still are. Maybe not so much _surprised_ as _irritated_, you guess. _Betrayed._ After all, you're about to die because your nature won't keep itself under control.

"Hi."

You actually, physically jump. In the second or so that you spent considering your own reflection, a second kid's managed to slip into the bathroom, past Davepeta and the hunter (whose name you _still_ don't know) and within grabbing distance. Not that you're going to grab them; they might look younger than Davepeta—definitely smaller, white-haired like the hunter but with bright red eyes that you don't think belong on anything human—but you're just going to assume that this entire group isn't safe to hold hostage. That just seems prudent right now.

Of course, just because you've ruled out one course of action does not mean that you know what you _should_ do. Be polite, you guess. "...hi?"

Apparently that's the right reaction, because the tiny kid—well, maybe not _tiny,_ but they can't be more than ten or eleven—grins at you and starts signing with both hands, pausing to point at your leg. You don't know sign language, but the topic of discussion here can't really be anything other than Artemis, who has woken up and decided that she's interested in what's happening outside of the confines of the pocket of your cargo pants.

You have to stop watching Davepeta and the hunter even in your peripheral vision in order to coax the little white snake to not just slither down your leg to the floor and other destinations unknown. That is perhaps not the best move, because when you straighten up again with Artemis wound around one hand, Davepeta's tensing in an obvious prelude to a lunge.

Why do you keep letting yourself believe that you're going to make it out of this alive, exactly?

The little red-eyed kid huffs in what you're guessing is irritation and takes a step that puts them solidly between you and the other two, flipping the bird at Davepeta before going back to more incomprehensible sign language. They might not be much of a barrier, but Davepeta still stops, ears flattening back as they pout and cross their arms.

The hunter's lips are moving as he watches the kid, like he has to mentally translate what they're saying with their hands. Then he says, "Yeah, Jr's right—don't get all sulky, you know you can't eat the kid's pet."

What.

Wait. _You're_ the kid here. You're a little offended that Artemis is being reduced to a mere pet, but then again that's better than her being reduced to a snack for a weird cat angel.

"I wasn't going to _eat_ it."

"Her," you feel the need to point out for some reason. Maybe it's just that your sense of self preservation finally snapped. "She's a _her._ And her name's Artemis."

"You named a snake Artemis?"

You can't imagine why the hunter sounds so surprised. "Why not? She's mine, it matches my name—"

"Yeah, what _is_ your name?"

Oh. Oh shit. You can't just not tell him, but can you really give up the only piece of information you have this easily?

Probably not, but you don't have to; the smaller kid whose name is _maybe_ Jr claps their hands twice and signs out six easily distinguishable signs. Letters, you're almost sure, because again the hunter mouths them out, pausing a second once he has all of them in order to add them all up into one word.

"Apollo. Okay then, Apollo, I'm D Strider—"

"...Strider?" The feeling of relief that trickles down to loosen the fear in your chest is indescribable. You might not know a lot about a lot of things, but the Striders? Yeah, you've heard of them. They're notorious for their dealings with demons and other supernatural creatures, but more for how many they've absorbed through various means than by any sinister reason. "Like _the_ Striders?"

D laughs. You're not sure if it's really less terrifying than you expected, or if your perception is just less clouded by the fear of death than it was a minute ago. "I mean, sure? Don't tell me that weird religion those guys built around Dave picked up a demon—I feel like most of y'all have more sense than that."

"Uh—"

"I _like_ Dave's religion," Davepeta points out, leaning on the sink counter and swiping their hand below the faucet to activate the motion sensor. "Everything they came up with so far is purretty rad and you know it."

"Yeah, sure, but he ain't a god—hey, Apollo, want another coffee?"

You _always_ want another coffee, but you should not have nodded without considering the strings that may be attached.

"Cool, I'll toss your order in with these idiots', then." (You're still waiting on those strings.) "Maybe take a run to the safehouse so we can make sure you're on the whitelist for everybody just in case?"

...that is the exact opposite of what you expected, but... "Sure? Just...no eating Artemis."

D snorts and looks at his kid, who currently has their head stuck under the sink trying to trigger the sensor with their tongue. "Davepeta?"

"Mmmph."

"_Please_ spit that out and promise for me."

"_Fine_, I won't eat that totally delicious snake. Cross my heart and wish to die." They straighten up in a movement that makes you wonder about the integrity of their spine, reaching up to smooth their curly hair back down and adjust the headband that doesn't connect to the cat ears. "Can I have espresso now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Meet you out there, Apollo."

...and they're out of the bathroom, leaving you standing there alone but for an empty cup on the floor and Artemis coiled around your wrist, wondering if that really just happened.

You're pretty sure it did, and that as soon as you walk out of here something new and interesting will continue happening. Once Artemis settles down enough to go back in your pocket, you think you'll go out and see what that new and interesting thing is going to be.

**Author's Note:**

>   
[ another pic of apollo by littlepuppyoneart on tumblr here!](https://knight-of-heart-and-art.tumblr.com/post/613835120456220672)


End file.
